35. CHAPTER XXXV.
THE FATHER'S RESOLVE.
Aware that her father was still a slave-owner, Clotelle determined to
use all her persuasive power to induce him to set them free, and in this
effort she found a substantial supporter in her husband.
“I have always treated my slaves well,” said Mr. Linwood to Jerome,
as the latter expressed his abhorrence of the system; “and my neighbors,
too, are generally good men; for slavery in Virginia is not like
slavery in the other States,” continued the proud son of the Old Dominion.
“Their right to be free, Mr. Linwood,” said Jerome, “is taken from
them, and they have no security for their comfort, but the humanity
and generosity of men, who have been trained to regard them not as
brethren, but as mere property. Humanity and generosity are, at best,
but poor guaranties for the protection of those who cannot assert
their rights, and over whom law throws no protection.”
It was with pleasure that Clotelle obtained from her father a promise
that he would liberate all his slaves on his return to Richmond. In a
beautiful little villa, situated in a pleasant spot, fringed with hoary rocks
and thick dark woods, within sight of the deep blue waters of Lake
Leman, Mr. Linwood, his daughter, and her husband, took up their residence
for a short time. For more than three weeks, this little party
spent their time in visiting the birth-place of Rousseau, and the former
abodes of Byron, Gibbon, Voltaire, Do Stael, Shelley, and other literary
characters.
We can scarcely contemplate a visit to a more historic and interesting
place than Geneva and its vicinity. Here, Calvin, that great luminary
in the Church, lived and ruled for years; here, Voltaire, the mighty genius,
who laid the foundation of the French Revolution, and who
boasted, “When I shake my wig, I powder the whole republic,” governed
in the higher walks of life.
Fame is generally the recompense, not of the living, but of the dead,
—not always do they reap and gather in the harvest who sow the seed;
the flame of its altar is too often kindled from the ashes of the great.
A distinguished critic has beautifully said, “The sound which the
stream of high thought, carried down to future ages, makes, as it flows
—deep, distant, murmuring ever more, like the waters of the mighty
ocean.” No reputation can be called great that will not endure this
test. The distinguished men who had lived in Geneva transfused their
spirit, by their writings, into the spirit of other lovers of literature and
everything that treated of great authors. Jerome and Clotelle lingered
long in and about the haunts of Geneva and Lake Leman.
An autumn sun sent down her bright rays, and bathed every object
in her glorious light, as Clotelle, accompanied by her husband and father
set out one fine morning on her return home to France. Throughout
the whole route, Mr. Linwood saw by the deference paid to Jerome,
whose black complexion excited astonishment in those who met him,
that there was no hatred to the man in Europe, on account of his color;
that what is called prejudice against color is the offspring of the institution
of slavery; and he felt ashamed of his own countrymen, when
he thought of the complexion as distinctions, made in the United States,
and resolved to dedicate the remainder of his life to the eradication of
this unrepublican and unchristian feeling from the land of his birth,
on his return home.
After a stay of four weeks at Dunkirk, the home of the Fletchers,
Mr. Linwood set out for America, with the full determination of freeing
his slaves, and settling them in one of the Northern States, and then
to return to France to end his days in the society of his beloved
daughter.
THE END.
Note.—The author of the foregoing tale was formerly a Kentucky
slave. If it serves to relieve the monotony of camp-life to the soldiers of
the Union, and therefore of Liberty, and at the same time kindles their
zeal in the cause of universal emancipation, the object both of its author
and publisher will be gained.
J. R.
